


Everything in Its Right Place

by itslauram



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:42:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27558550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itslauram/pseuds/itslauram
Summary: Hello, again! We are back with another bit of fluff for this Jamie and Claire. (As always, just want to reiterate that this is the same J&C who live in my original one shot “A New Day”, just different points in their relationship.)Thank you SO MUCH again for every comment and kudo. I may have fallen a bit behind on responding to you all, but I appreciate every one of you who have taken time to read. I am still blown away that anyone is ACTUALLY reading this! 🤯 Special thanks to my squad of cheerleaders who pre-read and fix my mess of punctuation.Radiohead is one of my all time favorite bands. So, if you recognize the title of this and what J&C are talking about in their conversation about them, you are fab.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 21
Kudos: 171





	Everything in Its Right Place

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, again! We are back with another bit of fluff for this Jamie and Claire. (As always, just want to reiterate that this is the same J&C who live in my original one shot “A New Day”, just different points in their relationship.)
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH again for every comment and kudo. I may have fallen a bit behind on responding to you all, but I appreciate every one of you who have taken time to read. I am still blown away that anyone is ACTUALLY reading this! 🤯 Special thanks to my squad of cheerleaders who pre-read and fix my mess of punctuation. 
> 
> Radiohead is one of my all time favorite bands. So, if you recognize the title of this and what J&C are talking about in their conversation about them, you are fab.

One of life’s greatest small pleasures is waking on your own time. No annoying, incessant beeping of an alarm jolting you out of sleep, while fumbling around in the darkness to silence said beeping. 

Sunlight streamed through the curtains, soaking my skin, bare and wrapped in sheets. A tranquil nest in the center of his bed. My muscles were protesting to being used so vigorously, and the ache between my thighs became evident (it had been...a while). A deluge of flashbacks from the previous evening flooded the forefront of my mind, and I faceplanted into the pillow opposite to me.

It smelled like him.

Frankly, I could not recall the last time I had woken up this content after sex. No second thoughts or worries about a potential awkward encounter on the way out.

It felt good.

That’s how it was with Jamie. Not only this post-first time sex glow, but everything, even the most mundane moments. _Good_.

My phone read half past nine. Bless him. He knew I needed the sleep. Just coming off a stretch of particularly challenging shifts, I apologized during dinner on behalf of my less-than-enthusiastic self for the one-sided conversation he was carrying. “ _It’s not you, it’s me_.” His response? A kiss to the tips of my fingers and a declaration that he “ _di dna_ _need to be entertained_ ” and was more than happy just to be with me.

 _Seriously?_ I wasn’t entirely certain I’d ever known a man so easy going, so laid back. Eyeing him suspiciously, searching for an ulterior motive, there appeared to be none. Not a single thing shown on his face but absolute sincerity.

And damn, what a face. I regularly had to resist the urge to blurt out, “ _why are yo_ _u so hot?_ ” like a drooling teenager.

Dinner had been comfortable, Jamie occasionally making random observations of our surroundings and regaling me with an animated account of the past weekend. He had spent Saturday fulfilling his “Uncle Jamie” duties to his nephews and niece while his sister and her husband escaped for a child-free day to celebrate their anniversary. Like most Scots I’d encountered, he was a born storyteller. When his hands weren’t gesturing enthusiastically in mid-sentence, they were woven with mine. Constantly touching. Our feet crossed under the table.

In moments like these, I knew my gut instinct had never lied to me about him. This was _right_. This was _good_. 

A heated kiss outside his car resuscitated my mind and body and I quickly answered _“No_ ” to his quiet inquiry (both hands buried in my hair, lips on my jaw) if we should call it a night.

This had been gradually building since the night we met, if we were both honest with ourselves. The smolder between us was now an inferno at this point, and I feared I might actually spontaneously combust if we didn’t do something about it. Our last few dates had concluded with my own fingers chasing a release that left me only mildly satisfied.

My breath had caught in my throat when he stopped to make eye contact, confirming my consent.

“Are ye sure?” he asked, breath ragged, eyes covertly pleading with me to say yes.

I answered with a tight grip on his belt loops, pulling him back to my greedy mouth.

We barely made it through his front door, Jamie slamming it behind us, narrowly avoiding being arrested for public indecency. Half of my clothing, and his, had already vanished by the time we reached the couch.

Now facing the full-length bathroom mirror, I engaged in a thorough head to toe once-over. The evidence of our evening (one, two, three, five times? I may have lost count) as clear as day.

“Well and thoroughly fucked” might as well have been sketched across my face in neon letters.

The pinkish-purple hue of vessels burst under the skin on the slope of my right breast and along each side of my neck. Instead of indignance or frustration over a hickey at thirty years old, I only felt an overwhelming surge of affection and lust for him. Tracing my fingers lightly over the marks, I wanted them on me forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The rich, earthy scent of coffee led me to find him in the kitchen, clad in a gray tee and running shorts. When he reached up into the cabinet for a mug, his shirt rose, shorts sitting low on his hips and offering me a glance of tan skin and a peak at his toned ass cheeks.

I was, admittedly, an ass woman; and Jamie’s was, well, quite magnificent. Standing there watching him, my head resting on the doorframe, I couldn’t help but feel more than a bit smug that this was all mine.

Sneaking up behind him, I linked my arm around his and slid my other hand under his waistband, pressing my lips to his bicep. He froze momentarily at my touch and sighed deeply, contented. He leaned his weight back, just enough to melt into me without toppling us both backwards.

“Hey”, he said softly (an unseen smile in his voice, I could hear it), taking my hand and running his lips over my palm.

“Hi,” I whispered, standing on my toes to let my chin reach his shoulder. His curls brushed my forehead as he bent his head down towards me, attempting a kiss.

It was awkward as hell and muffled giggles filled the room as he lifted me to sit on the countertop. The sheet tucked around my breasts began to fall and neither of us made any effort to stop it. Eyes, intense with something I couldn’t place, trailed down my torso, stopping to take notice of the bruises on my neck and chest. Something resembling a groan made me wonder if he was just as affected by seeing them on my body as I had been.

Reaching forward to untie the loose bun I’d piled my hair into, he ran his fingers through my curls, fluffing them out into a wild mess, the corner of his mouth upturned at the sight before him.

Bending down to my neck, he placed an open-mouthed kiss on the very spot he’d marked the night before, making my toes involuntary curl into themselves, before moving south to my breast, attaching his lips to his handiwork there. Unable to stop a low, throaty moan when he took a nipple into his mouth, my hands flew to the back of his head, gripping, pulling at his hair as his tongue circled the pebbled flesh, the sheet now pooled around my waist.

Desperate to kiss him again, I took his face with both hands and pulled him back to my mouth, my appetite just as voracious as it had been last night.

Lost.

In this kiss, in him, in us.

The morning stubble on his cheek was gritty and rough on my skin, and I caught a faint taste of mint as I drew his tongue into my mouth, sucking gently. I inhaled the scent of his still slightly sweaty skin against my nose, and my eyes opened only to find him staring right back at me.

It was incredibly erotic; this slow, languid exploration of each other’s mouths, eyes wide open. Easily one of the most intimate moments of my life, even though he’d been deep inside my body just hours before. This was different; and I felt vulnerable, cracked wide open. 

I squeezed the hand holding mine in an attempt to convey even a fraction of these feelings I didn’t know what to do with. My brain and heart were racing in an endless loop, unable to catch up.

Jamie felt it, too.

Squeezing my hand in return (“ _I understand._ ”). He planted a kiss on the tip of my nose, tucking the sheet snuggly back around me.

“Good morning, Sorcha,” he said, smiling sweetly, eyes bright, dimple appearing in his cheek. “I’m sorry I didna wake ye to go running like ye asked, but I figured ye needed to rest.”

Inquisitive brows rose in confusion. He began calling me names in Gaelic shortly after we’d first met, terms of endearment that made me warm in the very center of my chest, but I couldn’t recall this one.

“What does that mean?”

‘‘It’s yer name. Claire,” he said, tucking a few stray curls back behind my ears, “means brightness, and that’s just what ye are to me, _a nighean_. My Sorcha.”

Entirely unprepared for the onslaught of emotions that were assaulting me from this bit of information, I gripped the countertop. My heart hammered against my rib cage. “I love you” threatened to burst out of my mouth, but no. God. It was too soon, wasn’t it?

Jamie turned away and busied himself with perfecting his coffee before asking what I’d like in mine.

He was doing it on purpose, giving me space to sort my thoughts. He had a knack for that, reading me like a book, often echoing my thoughts before I’d even voiced them.

He was a good egg. I was lucky.

I poked him playfully in his side.

“So, I’m the cream in your coffee?” I quipped in an effort not to dismiss this devastatingly sweet revelation.

A deep laugh erupted from him, the genuine kind that makes one’s nose scrunch and eyes crinkle.

“Aye, Claire. Ye are the cream in my coffee.”

~~~~~~~~~

We lounged on the couch, sipping our coffee. Two plates of omelettes and toast sat on the small table in front of us.

The discussion turned to Radiohead albums. I insisted “OK Computer” was by far the superior choice when he declared “The Bends” to be his favorite. (“ _But Fa_ _ke Plastic_ _Trees, Claire! It’s a masterpiece. Ye canna listen_ _wi’out_ _getting emotional!_ ”)

He had a point.

My legs were draped across his lap, one hand stroking my calf and the other wrapped around his mug.

When a hand wandered a little too far north, a pair of lips found the space behind his ear. I found myself pulling him down onto the cushions atop me, neck craning forward to fuse his mouth back with mine.

Jamie, he had other plans.

His nose and lips slid down my chest, my belly (a clench and unclench of abdominal muscles quivering underneath him), past my navel…

And then took a sharp left.

I nearly shot off the couch when I felt his tongue, warm and wet, in the crease of my thigh. A high-pitched, keening noise I hadn’t known I was capable of surprised me and I felt his lips turn upwards against my skin.

“Jamie?” I choked out, “Don’t you want to eat?”

He chose that instant to look up at me. The sight of him between my legs nearly finished me right there, but the shit-eating grin on his face... if I wasn't aroused out of my mind, I’d have laughed.

Smug, thy name is Jamie Fraser.

“Aye,” he drawled, hooking my leg over his shoulder.

Resting a hand on my forehead, every breath I’d been holding in ejected from my lungs through flushed, puffed cheeks. 

Reaching his intended destination, he placed a single kiss there before diving in and successfully rendering me speechless, save for the syllables in his name.

He was incredibly _skilled_ at this, another box checked on the list of an impressive plethora of talents.

Grabbing at the auburn locks on his head, unconsciously pulling him closer, the very small portion of my brain that still remained functional reminded me not to smother him.

He didn’t seem to mind; wrapping his free hand around my opposite thigh, sliding me down the couch impossibly closer to him, reaching up to palm a breast, kneading the flesh in perfect rhythm with the strokes of his tongue.

“Jamie,” I whined, hips writhing against his face of their own accord. Any shred of dignity I may have been holding on to, in an already weak grasp, flew out the window.

Pressure began coiling in the pit of my belly, the frequency of my breaths increasing, a sensation of molten liquid spreading outwards into my limbs; that moment right on the precipice of an orgasm, that split-second high, feeling as though I might actually skyrocket right out of my body before exploding.

At some point, Jamie had replaced his mouth with his hand and I came hard around his fingers. My back arched, arms behind my head, gripping at the corners of a pillow, teeth plunging into my bottom lip.

Through a haze, I vaguely heard him whisper “ _mo ghràidh_” and felt his hand cupping my face. My head fell to the side, nuzzling into him, mouth still slightly open, breathing heavily into his palm.

Sitting upright, he gathered me up into his lap, stroking my back as I caught my breath. Lazily resting my head on his shoulder, arms draped around his neck, I registered the fact that I was completely nude and why was he so _clothed_? 

For the second time that morning, the words “I love you” reverberated off the walls in my mind. Right on cue, in typical Jamie fashion, as if he could hear my thoughts, he kissed my cheek soundly and tightened his arms around me.

“I want you inside me,” I breathed into his ear.

He simply nodded. Simultaneously reaching for his shirt, both of us worked together to pull the fabric over his head. Lips locked again in a deep kiss, his welcome weight settled comfortably over me, my legs widening to make room for him. He slipped into me, an ease to his movements, as if we’d been doing this for years.

We lay together after, side to side, perfectly sated, still connected. My last thought before dozing off was one of a lost puzzle piece, the very _last_. That one you’d given up on finding, resigning to the fact that the scene might not ever be finished, but you’ll live with it anyway because you’ve built and you’ve shaped these pieces into something beautiful.

Yet, here _ it _was, final edges sliding into place.

Complete.

_ I think I was blind before I met you _

_ And I don't know where I am, I don't know where I've been _

_ But I know where I want to go _

  
“First Day Of My Life” - Bright Eyes 


End file.
